


the future we fought for

by SongofThunder



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOFAS doesn't happen in this story, AU, Amren's the real hero of the story, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, High Lady Viviane, High Lord Politics because I want to have a real plot, Oppressed Lesser Faeries, Or kill me, Please Don't Hate Me, Politics, Rhys dies, Sorry guys, Tamlin kills him and everyone's sad, Tamlin no, Tamlin why, Tamlin's an absolute tool, because Rhys died, but Amren lives?, pregnant feyre, semi-happy ending, there are children here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-05 23:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongofThunder/pseuds/SongofThunder
Summary: At the end of ACOWAR, Tamlin refuses to heal Rhysand, killing him and leaving Feyre broken and shattered. This is the story of how she rebuilds.(Based off of a Tumblr post, read it or you won't understand. Link at the beginning.)





	1. death doesn't discriminate

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Tamlin Headcanon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/380934) by pages-of-spilled-ink. 



> This work was based off of pages-of-spilled-ink's 'headcanon' here: https://pages-of-spilled-ink.tumblr.com/post/163967181115/a-tamlin-headcanon  
> If you've never seen their work, then let me tell you that they are known for heartbreaking AUs and beautiful descriptions of character deaths. They make us cry.
> 
> You are required to read this post before reading or else you won't understand.

He was gone. 

 _Gone._

_GONE._ _  
_

Feyre would never again look into her mate's eyes.

Touch his cheek.

Tell him what she knew, what he knew. Tell him she loved him.

She let her hand stroke his hair, let her head rest upon his chest.

Something deep inside her was writhing, screaming to be let out, and her power swelled in her veins, itching to take revenge.

With great effort (was there more power than before?) she quelled it.

The High Lords were long gone now. They had given her space.

Only Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Varian remained.

When it had become clear that there would be no comeback, when they had stood there for fifteen minutes and Rhys had not moved, Mor had given a long wail and collapsed next to Feyre. Feyre held Mor, and Mor held her, and together they screamed and sobbed and shook their fists at the sky.

Azriel was pacing, muttering curses, writhing shadows betraying his pain.

Strangely, it was Cassian who was the calmest. Feyre heard a barely uttered "you bastard" before the general knelt down.

Gently, so gently, he brushed the hair out of Rhys’ eyes, touched two fingers to his lids.

And just like that, Feyre’s mate could have been sleeping.

He looked so peaceful, and Feyre sobbed harder.

Varian was the outlier. The Summer prince stood awkwardly alone, unable to take his eyes off Rhys’ body. Eventually Azriel turned and hissed at him, asking him why he was here, what was he here for.

Varian’s answer was simple. “Because you're not the only one who lost a loved one today. And misery loves company.”

Indeed, his presence was comforting. There was something warming to know that someone else understood your pain.

An hour, or maybe two, passed, and Feyre felt a hand on her shoulder.

“If it's any comfort to you, girl, he did not suffer.”

Amren, back from the dead.

“Your revenge will come, child.” Amren blinked, seemingly contemplating why she had called her friend ‘child.’ “But for now, get up. Crying will not bring him back.”

Feyre nodded, but did not understand.

Amren was alive, and Rhys was not.

“The High Lords have already initiated a new treaty while you were gone. You need to get up. They need you.”

“Velaris needs you.”

Slowly, laboriously, Feyre rose from the ground.

And mother, it _hurt._

She shook, and huge tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

Because how could she get up, how could she lead her Court when the only true sovereign was dead?

Amren was there, holding her up with surprising strength for someone so small.

“Up, girl. Let’s go home.”

_ Home. _

Velaris.

Feyre straightened.

“That’s it. Velaris needs you.”

A nod.

“Can you winnow us back?”

She opened her mouth to speak, and her voice came out shaky.

“I-I think s-so.”

She took in a shuddering breath.

_ Be happy with me, Feyre. I’ll be waiting. _

No.

_ No. _

_ NO. _

“Feyre.” Amren was snapping her fingers in front of her eyes. “Grieve later.”

Yes.

There would be time to grieve.

Anger, pure anger, flooded her senses, and Feyre was filled with a primal urge to  _ kill. _

_ “I’m going to murder him, _ ” she snarled.

Amren’s dry smile was almost sad. “That’s the spirit. Use that spirit to get us home.”

“I can kill him now-”

“No. You cannot.” There was a knowing in Amren’s eyes that Feyre could not quite place. “You are weak, girl.”

“I am  _ HIGH LADY-” _

“You are Feyre Archeron, Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court. Yes, yes, we know.” Amren waved a hand. “You are also a tired, broken High Fae who has just won a war.”

“And  _ lost _ it.” Rhys-

“And lost it,” Amren agreed. “You have suffered great pain today.” Her eyes flashed mercury silver. There was no longer power roiling behind her gaze, but her gaze was fiery and stubborn and  _ ancient _ nonetheless. “I have no doubt that if you try to kill Tamlin once your power is at full, you will succeed. But if you try now, when you are drained, then you will  _ fail. _ And you will join Rhys in the afterlife.”

_ That wouldn’t be so bad. _

“Yes, it would be.” Feyre flinched, wondering-

“No, I cannot read minds. But it was very clear to anyone what you were thinking. If you join him, Rhys will have failed in his one job- to  _ keep you safe. _ You are  _ strong, _ and this should not stop you from doing your duty.”

Blue-grey eyes met unflinching silver ones. “My duty is to avenge Rhys.”

“If you fail, Tamlin will live.” Amren was clearly trying very hard to not shout. “You have a  _ Court _ to run!  _ That _ is your duty!”

“How do I-”

Amren huffed in impatience. “Figure it out later. Home. Now.”

Feyre obeyed.

The darkness claimed them both, and as they jumped from place to place, Feyre thought long, and she thought hard.

Clearly, shattering Tamlin’s Court was not enough.

He had to suffer.

She was going to  _ destroy _ him.


	2. it takes and it takes and it takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of Rhys’ death, and Feyre's announcement to Velaris.
> 
> (In this chapter: Will Rhys be resurrected? Will Feyre actually do her High Lady duty? Will Amren finally get to relax? And WILL TAMLIN DIE YET? Spoiler alert: No.)

* * *

It was quiet in Velaris.

The people had rebuilt quickly. There was much to be done, yes, but much had been done already.

Every eye was on her, and Feyre felt herself burning under the weight of a thousand confused gazes.

After all, she was the only one standing in the courtyard.

Varian had offered his condolences and left to help his father with the aftermath. Lucien had gone with him to strengthen relations with the Summer Court.

Cassian had volunteered to inform the Illyrian legions. Mor had gone with him.

Her sisters were somewhere in the crowd, waiting with bated breath. Azriel was listening to reports from his spies. Amren stood to the side.

There was no one beside her.

And for once, there was no familiar golden thread offering her comfort.

There was only her half of a broken, frayed string.

The other half of her whole was long gone.

She felt like crying.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak.

_I love you._

And just like that, every word she was about to say withered on her tongue.

A small, strangled noise came out of her throat.

“The High Lord is dead.”

A collective gasp emerged from the crowd as Amren stepped across Feyre.

“We won the war, but High Lord Rhysand lost.” Amren’s voice was powerful, cold, the voice of a Lord.

_No,_ Feyre realized, _not a Lord._

The voice of a Second.

Her Second.

“He died valiantly. The Cauldron itself was cracking, and our High Lord gave everything he could so that it could be fixed. So that we could have our happy ending.” Amren’s eyes fixated on every one of the citizens.

“We will gather again tomorrow to celebrate his own.”

Amren turned around, took Feyre’s hand, and led her away from the shocked crowd.

As soon as they were alone, Feyre looked pointedly at Amren, who pretended not to notice.

“Thank you. For- for saying what I couldn't.”

In one minute, Amren had done what Feyre had spent two hours preparing for.

There was one question burning on her mind, though.

Feyre tilted her head. “How can you be like this?”

Amren did not flinch. “Like what?”

“Strong. Cold. Commanding. You've been the driving force for all of us.” There was a small bit of surprise that flashed over Amren’s face at that. “It was you who ordered us to return home,” Feyre continued, “and you who ordered preparations, and you who gave us our duties. If it weren't for this,” she said, raising her right hand and indicating her High Lady tattoo, “I'd have thought that you were the High Lady, and not me.”

Amren shrugged. “No one else will be strong,” she answered. “As Rhysand’s Second, and as the Cassian-appointed Tiny Ancient One of the Inner Circle, it falls to me to make sure that the Court stays running until you can recover.”

_So it's her own way of grieving,_ Feyre realized. She was doing what Rhys would have done, has he been here.

“You think it's your fault,” she whispered. “So you're doing all you can to make amends.”

Amren simply gave another shrug. “I will never forgive myself if all he built falls apart.”

* * *

 While the announcement had made her distraught, talking about the death of her mate, the journey back made her _furious._

Little moments flashed back to her. Rhys’ laugh. Rhys’ eyes. Rhys’ smile.

Every step, every memory, was a fire, scorching at her, burning her alive.

Only her constant thinking helped her, calmed her, healed the burns of her own making.

Strange, that the thoughts that soothed her so were the thoughts of Tamlin dying.

It helped to imagine. Tamlin screaming while she carved patterns into his flesh. Tamlin choking for air while she cut off his air supply. Her skinning him like she had skinned Andras.

Thoughts of castration helped the most.

But no matter what she thought. She wouldn't kill him.

Not yet.

No, there would be a perfect moment, where she would let him watch his world shatter, before finally ending his meaningless life.

Or perhaps she would watch the joy alight in his eyes before snapping his neck and watching the light die out.

No, that was too quick a death.

The doors to the shared home of the Inner Circle swung open, and Feyre ceased all thoughts of death.

Nesta was by the window, staring out with an empty gaze.

Elain was by Feyre’s side in minutes.

“I'm so sorry,” came her whisper, and Feyre sensed she understood. Elain, too, had lost a lover.

Elain’s might have even been worse, Feyre thought. Would it not be worse to have a lover turn on you?

Feyre allowed Elain to sit her down and wreath long stalks of pale, snapdragon-like flowers into her hair.

“Gladiolus,” she explained, softly. “It means strength. And… remembrance.”

“Thank you.” And Feyre was truly grateful.

Elain’s warm brown eyes held a wisdom beyond her years, and likely far beyond Fae years, too. “We’ll get through this, you know.” She gave a small smile. “I can See it.”

Feyre was curious. “What exactly do you see?”

“I See… paint. And… blood. But after it all, I can See… well, I can hear laughter. But it's the genuine type of laughter. Happy laughter. It sounds like… like yours. And Cassian’s, and Azriel's and Mor's. And someone else's, that I don't recognize. It's confusing, but if you're laughing, then everything must turn out all right.”

“It doesn't seem like it'll be alright.”

“It will.”

* * *

 

After an hour, Azriel came home.

Whatever his spies had told him, it wasn't good, for his shadows continued to writhe in pain and fury.

He calmed a little when Elain tried to give him a wreath of flowers too, but his voice was still laced with anger when he spoke.

“Where’s Amren.” Not a question. A command.

“I'm right here, Shadowsinger.” Amren leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on her face.

Feyre shot up and tried to block him as Azriel stood up. “No!”

Azriel gently but firmly pushed her aside.

When he finally stopped walking, he was glowering at Amren.

“You shouldn't talk down to people who you think are less than you.”

“Well,” Nesta remarked dryly from the window, “he can hardly talk up to you.” Feyre shot her a glare.

Azriel didn't seem to notice the joke or the glare. His eyes were on Amren.

“Now,” he growled, “explain exactly why you're here and he's not.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladiolus is a real flower, and it actually does mean strength and remembrance like Elain said! I figure she'd know exactly what each one means and would totally braid a flower crown.  
> Also, Elain giving Az a flower wreath can be Elriel if you like, but it's really just meant to be Elain calming down a grieving friend.
> 
> Please comment to tell me what you liked or what you didn't! And if you DID like it, please leave a kudo, I'm at that stage where I count every one. :)


	3. the story of my life (and death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amren explains what happened in the void between worlds, and exactly why she returned and Rhys did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amren's at her wit's end.  
> I'm not proud of this chapter, but I felt an explanation was needed. Next chapter will probably be written better.
> 
> Also, spoiler alert: Tamlin doesn't die, and I'm deciding to not include his death in this story. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to write the scene, but when I do, it will be AFTER this story is done, and in a separate work marked with the graphic depictions of violence tag. In this story, I won't go into the gory details. Sorry to all you who wanted that.

Amren blinked for a second, before returning to her senses. “It’s not much to explain.”

“Well, explain it anyway, because Cauldron, I think I’m going to explode.”

“Sit down, and I'll tell the story.” Amren didn't even flinch at Azriel's fury.

Azriel noticed this, and stepped back. “The story better be good.”

“It is,” Amren promised. Sadness edged the corners of her eyes. “But there's no happy ending.”

* * *

 

“When I died, there was… darkness.

I was standing on an island of it.

Behind me, there was a wall of pure light. It was so welcoming, and warm...

In front of me, there was a ravine, and at the bottom of the ravine was the same light.

Across, there was darkness.

The light beckoned me, called me, and yet I had seen it before and so I knew-

If I went closer towards the light, I would be going closer towards death.

So… I stalled.

Because despite what I was, despite my sacrifice, I was still afraid of death.

I waited a little while, and then I heard footsteps.

I looked up, and there was Rhys.

He looked at me, and asked me, “Are you going to go?”

I shook my head, because I wasn’t ready to go, not yet.

He smiled, and told me, “Neither am I.” Whether he read my mind one last time or was simply telling me that he wasn’t going to go either, I’ll never know.

And then there was… a bridge. Back to the darkness. Something glowed, and I knew- the High Lords were Making Rhys again.

So he stepped onto the bridge and held out a hand.

“Do you want to come back?” he said. And I nodded, because I did.

I took his hand, and I stepped onto the bridge.

The bridge was not Made for me, but because I was with him, I could stand on it. So together, we walked across the bridge.

I stepped back onto the darkness first, and I turned back to help him up and I saw-

Nothing.

He was gone, the bridge was gone, and there was only me and the darkness.

I crossed over, promising myself it was all a dream.

And then I woke up, and I was alive, and he was dead.”

Suddenly she stood up. ”Long story short,” she finished, as if they hadn’t been listening to every word she had said, “I died, and suddenly he was there with me. And then he began to glow, and I knew… you were Making him again. He held out a hand, and asked me if I’d like to come back.”

She sat down again, rubbing her head. “So I took his hand, and then I woke up.” A shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know how he did it. The only explanation I can offer is that he brought me close enough to life that I was able to come back, and then he died.” For once there was pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

There was an awkward pause.

Feyre spoke first. “We don't blame you.”

“What if, girl, you are supposed to blame me?”

“Supposed to?” Feyre blinked. “What kind of answer is that?”

“Had I caught him, he would be standing here right now,” Amren snapped. “We wouldn't be having his funeral, you wouldn't be the sole leader of this Court, and I wouldn't be at my wits’ end trying to keep all you idiots mentally stable!”

Once again, she got out of her chair and threw open the doors to the townhouse. “ _I_ am going to Velaris,” she declared, temper clearly rising.

And with that, she was gone.


	4. when I stare at the stars, I hope you're staring back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really milking this angst here.  
> As for the actual plot? It begins next chapter! This is an angsty story so there'll probably be more angst, but not nearly as much.

In typical Rhysand style, the funeral was dramatic and extravagant.

Apparently, most of it had already been planned during Under the Mountain. “To pass the time,” Mor had explained once she had returned. (The Illyrian legions had apparently taken the news relatively well, although many were irritated their new High Lord was a High Lady.)

“A bit of a morbid way to pass time, don't you think?” Feyre joked half-heartedly.

“Shush. You don't know how long we waited. We were almost going to host his funeral anyway, and have him attend it.”

“I would have liked to see that,” Feyre replied, smiling at the thought of her mate crashing his own funeral.

It was tradition for Illyrians to be burned, so that they could “take our places in the sky, and roam free” according to Azriel. At least, that’s what Feyre gathered from his lecture on Illyrian history.

“Also, Rhys’ is too big to fit in a casket!” Cassian called out from another room.

Feyre's mouth fell open in surprise, and Azriel looked enraged.

“Just trying to make light of the situation!”

_ It’s not helping. _

“So, you admit he has a bigger wingspan than you?” remarked Mor from the same room. Although her voice was light-hearted, her teeth were clenched tightly and she looked a little strained.

“What?” Cassian sputtered. “That's not what I meant!” Feyre could see him turn visibly red, and she felt a small sense of satisfaction.

Mor went back to sipping her wine.

* * *

 

Velaris was draped in violet banners the color of their High Lord’s eyes, and pretty much the entire city, plus a thousand or so, had come to watch.

Again, Feyre stood in the center of the city.

“Give the word, and it happens,” whispered Amren. “It would be good for the city to watch you grieve, or else you might have some resistance to your rule- but still, put your foot down and we’ll let him go.”

She nodded, and turned to look at him.

Not five seconds passed and she had to look away. She couldn't see him dead. Not like this. Not on a funeral pyre.

If she looked, she’d throw up, and this time he wouldn't be there to comfort her.

Instead Feyre looked at her hand. Her left hand; not the one tattooed with her High Lady tattoo; the pale, unblemished one. The hand that she had marked her first bargain on. Her and Rhys’ first bargain. The bargain Hybern had ripped away.

Suddenly she felt alone.

She reached out to stroke his face one last time. Took a fleeting glance.

He was so cold. So very cold-

_ Because of Tamlin. _

“I  _ will _ avenge you.”

She didn't care if the entirety of Velaris saw the new tattoo blooming over her left hand.

Feyre nodded to Amren, and shut her eyes as her mate was set aflame.

The red light behind her eyes filled her with a new resolve and determination.

Amren had been right. She was High Lady of the Night Court.

And she had a Court to run and a High Lord to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small clarification- Feyre’s ‘bargain’ to Rhys is not a true bargain, since one of the recipients is dead. It's more of a coping mechanism for her. If she dies without avenging him, which, spoiler alert, won't happen, nothing will happen to her or anything. No curses.
> 
> also I don't like this chapter either but I liked writing it and apparently you guys liked the chapters I hated


	5. if this is power, then I don't want it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inner Circle meeting, and the sort of beginning of an actual plot!

“Inner Circle meeting. Now.” Feyre slammed her hands down on the table.

“Great. What are we discussing?” No sarcasm in Mor’s usually cheery voice. She simply seemed… tired.

“We need to discuss what happens next.”

“Finally!” Amren threw her hands  up in victory. “And the High Lady’s head is  _ finally _ screwed on correctly!”

“Stop it.”

“Never.”

“Anyways,” stated Azriel. “we need to definitely organize a new High Lords meeting. To discuss the aftermath.”

Feyre nodded. “Agreed. I do need to catch up on the treaty.”

Azriel spoke up. “We can fill you in, we were there.”

Another nod. “Thank you. Any word back from Lucien and the Summer Court?”

“No word,” Azriel replied. “But then again, messengers take a few days.”

Feyre thought for a moment. “If anything, we should contact Thesan. He hosted the last High Lords meeting-”

“Which went SO well,” interjected Mor.

The entire Inner Circle shot pointed glances at Cassian.

“What? For once it wasn't me that caused it! It was Azriel!”

At this sentence, the Circle came to their senses and shifted their glares to Azriel, who shrank back.

“What I was  _ saying _ ,” Feyre interrupted loudly, trying to change the subject, “is that Thesan might like to host the meeting again.”

“We almost trashed his little cove,” pointed out Mor.

“We  _ did _ trash his little cove,” interrupted Cassian.

“It might be polite to  _ ask, _ ” retorted Feyre.

“We’ll see.”

“While we’re on the topic,” stated Azriel, “I did receive a message from Kallias and Viviane, asking for an alliance. Should we accept?”

“It’s likely a good idea.”

Azriel nodded. “I’ll send a reply.”

“Last thing,” Feyre said quickly, changing the subject. “We’ll need to fortify the borders. Cassian, are your legions in order?”

Cassian, not for the first time, looked confused. “They are, and they can do what you ask, but- why the hell do we need the borders fortified?”

Feyre rubbed her head. “Some might see me as the weaker of the High Sovereigns. As much as Rhys tried to install me as just as powerful as he was, it didn't work for some. And without a heir, that power is gone. If the Legions are still as powerful as you say, our Court can easily crush any enemies, but it's best to stop them from coming in on the first place.”

Now they were all staring at her with- was that pity? She suddenly felt self-conscious. “What?” she snapped. “What’s wrong? Was my move not a good one?”

The pause felt like years.

Amren, as always, spoke up. “It's not the move- it's always a wise idea to fortify the borders. But about you being the weaker of the two- your reputation isn't a problem.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Have you tried breaking into anyone's mind? Have you tried to summon any shadows?”

She hadn't. Hadn't needed to. She'd been in her own city for the past few days-

“We all saw it, Feyre.” Mor’s voice was quiet. “After Tamlin killed him, we saw that power leave him.”

“We dared to hope it was nothing but a trick of the light,” continued Azriel, “but we saw- the power-”

“It flowed into you.” Cassian’s voice was barely audible.

Amren finished their description. “The power of the High Lords- I don't think it liked it, but it recognized you as heir. It is yours now. His power, and all that came before.”

“I'm not-”

“You are no longer a High Lady purely by your own power, no.”

Feyre shivered, taking all of it in.

She was truly a High Lord now.

Perhaps before, the old laws wouldn't have recognized she was breaking them. Perhaps before, the magic of the old laws would not have punished her. To them, she was no more than a commoner with unusual amounts of power.

But now..

Now she had the power of the High Lords. Not only her own.

Which meant that the old laws bound her.

Which meant-

_ She couldn't kill Tamlin. _

The thought brought tears to her eyes. He had killed her mate through a loophole, and then she couldn't do it back?

It hurt.

She was barely aware of words being spoken.

_ “Great. We've broken her. Fortify the borders, I'll get her to rest. _ ”

A hand led her away as her hopes for the future shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise, surprise! There's a loophole in the old laws! It's also pretty obvious! But Feyre's not in her right mind right now so she's not seeing it. ;(

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you liked or disliked it, please comment to tell me what I did that you liked or hated!
> 
> You don't have to kudo if you hate it, but I'd appreciate if you'd at least tell me what I did wrong. I'd like to fix my writing :)


End file.
